


Baz

by n7chelle



Series: A Herd of Black Sheep [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 23:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16005713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n7chelle/pseuds/n7chelle
Summary: Baz has some feelings about the trip to Skyhold.





	Baz

**Author's Note:**

> Fourth post from r/dragonage. Finally breaking free of the prompts, this one started as "losing a fight, an unlikely rescue, and a really embarrassing moment", but never _quite_ got there. And that's okay! I'm just glad Baz finally got to say more than a few words.

Baz needs a drink.  
  
Not that he doesn't enjoy trudging through endless miles of snow and mountain paths to reach the isolated fortress the Inquisition has made their stronghold, but...to be honest, no, he isn't enduring the journey from Ostwick with the same tolerance as his siblings. He's had ice frozen solid in his beard and mustache for two days. Fi in particular is in a mood, determined not to be bothered by anything ever again. Apparently this includes complaining about the constant biting winds, long days spent in the saddle, and nights with nothing but woolen bedrolls between their backs and the hard-packed ground. Baz would prefer she complain, all things considered. He misses her smiles and laughter, and hates their father a little more for every moment she forces her face to remain blank and impassive.  
  
Theo had let her be alone as they crossed the Waking Sea. In hindsight, this was probably a mistake. Fi hadn't left her cabin for the entirety, and when she emerged the redness had faded from her eyes and nose. In its place stood a mask carefully crafted of disinterest that didn't belong on the face of any child, but especially not their baby sister. Once they'd got on the road in Ferelden, it seemed Fi had taken the days ahead of them as a challenge to say as few words as possible to either of her brothers. Eventually even Theo's enthusiasm dimmed, and the unforgiving fire in Baz's heart burned brighter still.  
  
Just as well that Julian had absconded further north to Antiva to be with his latest progeny. His work frequently brought him south, but there's no possibility of them encountering him by chance. Baz doesn't trust himself not to do something irreparable next time he sees the man.  
  
On the day which turns out to be their last on the road, Theo nudges his horse carefully up a snowy rise and stops at the summit. Baz crests the hill on foot, leading his mare and Fi's, and together they gaze for the first time upon Skyhold. Ice-crusted walls blend into raw stone as if the fortress was somehow grown rather than laid with bricks. The peak supporting Skyhold stands noticeably apart from the other closely crowded slopes, a literal island of stone with a yawning chasm on one side, and a sluggish ice-river on the other. They'd never have found this place without the aid of the map provided by the mysterious Sister Nightingale.   
  
Baz wishes--and not for the first time--that Bel could have joined them. Any discomfort is easier to bear with his twin, and she's better than any of them at filling awkward silences. Their destination is finally in sight; it should be a cause for celebration, for the mood of his companions to lift if only by the tiniest of margins...but after just a few breaths to appreciate the view, one of the horses snorts softly, stamps restlessly, and the moment passes. Theo urges his mount on without a word, skirting the rocks jutting out of the snow and down the well-trodden path towards Skyhold's bridge. Baz sighs into the cold air, savoring the foggy cloud that warms his face for the space of a blink, and follows.  
  
Athena had better have some  _damn_  strong spirits stashed away somewhere in that big fortress of hers.

* * *

Much as he's itching to sweep his sister into a bear hug, the sight of Herald's Rest is like a blessing from Andraste. The promise of raucous laughter and song and the sound of tankards full of ale sliding across wood beckon him inside, and Baz abandons his siblings in the courtyard without a backward glance.   
  
Once he's inside--sweet Maker, the  _warmth_  of being inside again--he just stands for a minute, basking as the ice melts from his bones.  
  
"Blocking the door, big guy," someone says from behind him. "Make room." It's true, Baz hasn't taken a single step further into the tavern, and he's not a little man.  
  
But neither is the ox-horned qunari that shoulders past him. Baz follows the shirtless giant with wide eyes all the way to a full table in the back, where a group of mismatched humans and elves and a single dwarf all rearrange to make space just broad enough for him to join them. A pretty barmaid with shockingly red hair appears with a tray of frothy pints mere seconds after the qunari's arrival.  
  
Right. Ale.  
  
Baz lumbers over to the bar, not wanting to introduce himself to any of the strangers seated at every table just yet. The dwarf working the counter doesn't ask questions, just plunks down another foam-topped pint and moves on. Baz takes a long, heady inhale of warm spices and then the flavor is on his tongue, burning his throat, and probably making a frothy mess of his facial hair. The tension between his shoulder blades starts to unspool for the first time in weeks.   
  
"Hey there." The stool to his right creaks under someone's weight. Baz glances around the curve of the pint currently emptying the last of it's contents into his belly, and promptly chokes. "Sorry--didn't mean to startle you, big guy," his new neighbor laughs--it's the shirtless qunari--while Baz coughs through a lungful of ale. "So anyways...you're new around here. I definitely would've noticed another soldier as big as me wandering around Skyhold. What's your story? You just sign up?"   
  
Baz fakes a few extra coughs to delay answering. Everything about the qunari screams a life lived on the battlefield--from the battered leather pauldron on his shoulder to the scars streaking across every inch of visible skin. He doesn't mean to stare, but the qunari's metal eye patch is  _beautiful_  work, and firelight tracing the raised designs is distracting.  
  
"See something you like?" the qunari's eyebrow quirks knowingly, though it doesn't sound entirely friendly.   
  
"Sorry," Baz coughs again, switching to the qunari's good eye. "I'm a metalworker by trade," he explains, "never seen a design quite like that before."  
  
"Gotcha, no offense taken then," the qunari smiles, and it seems genuine. "But it doesn't answer my question--what brings a guy like you to the Inquisition?"   
  
There are a lot of ways he could answer, all of them truthful, and the core would be the same: family. He's not entirely sure what the deal is with the Inquisition just yet though. News from Ferelden is always tangled up with rumors and gossip by the time it reaches the Free Marches. Sister Nightingale's letter said Athena's leadership was 'uncontested' within the Inquisition, but that could mean anything.  
  
"My sister, she's supposed to be here," Baz replies, deciding to err on the side of caution for the time being. "Our family is scattered all over and I haven't seen her in ages."   
  
After that, Bull ("It's  _The_  Iron Bull, technically.") opens up like a flower in sunlight, telling him all about the Inquisition since he and his mercenary band joined up, offers to help locate his sister, and even buys him another drink. It's something stronger, something qunari apparently, burns like darkspawn blood going down, though the taste is beyond compare and pretty soon his frozen hands and feet are pleasantly warm and tingly. He's pretty sure Bull has been flirting with him for a good half-hour, and never let it be said that Baz isn't one for a challenge. He's not picky one way or another, but he's just about to suggest maybe they arm-wrestle for who gets to be on top when a sudden lull descends over the tavern.  
  
"Inquisitor!" Bull calls over his shoulder, and Baz turns, slightly dizzy, to look  
  
The woman standing in the doorway is resplendent in pale white leather and golden scales, the orange of inquisition around her waist and neck. She looks like a holy champion, like Andraste herself returned to Thedas, and it's not until Baz sees his brother and sister standing beside her that he realizes with a rush of embarrassment: this shining woman is none other than his own sister, Athena Trevelyan.  
  
" _Maker's breath_ ," he swears, and for the first time, feels like a blasphemer. 


End file.
